


Come Closer

by MissMonsters2



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMonsters2/pseuds/MissMonsters2
Summary: In which, you enter Natasha’s world via cleaning her window.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader, Natasha Romanov/Reader, natasha Romanoff/reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 155
Collections: Natasha Romanoff Reader Inserts





	1. PART I

Mornings tend to be Natasha’s only time of peace. 

She’s gotten to a place in her life where when the world is not in impending doom, she’ll sleep in a little. She’ll take her morning in slow, there are no early morning workouts, and sometimes, she’ll laze around in bed with a cup of coffee until 11 AM.

But for some reason, her morning hasn’t been as relaxing as she likes. Maybe it’s post-saving the world that her nerves haven’t cooled off. The mission bothered her because Natasha knows what she brings to the table, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

There’s an underlying pressure and anxiety she feels when she’s lying in bed. Sleep has been harder to come.

But then she hears a voice outside her window.

Singing, to be precise. 

_♪ Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn’t have to wait so long? ♪_

The voice isn’t unpleasant. Sometimes Natasha hates it when people sing without music because they tend to go off-key, but you’ve got a pitch that works for you, and a soft, pleasant singing voice. 

It occurs to Natasha that Tony has said something about hiring someone to clean their windows. Natasha always has her curtains closed in the morning, but she may have a window cracked open.

_♪ And wouldn’t it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belong? ♪_

Natasha stops moving around in bed, not wanting to alert you that someone is awake behind the window you’re cleaning. 

_♪ You know it’s gonna make it that much better when we can say goodnight and stay together. ♪_

There’s a small breeze that carries through, rustling the curtain, and she catches a glimpse of you.

_♪ Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wake up in the morning when the day is new? ♪_

It’s 8 AM on a Tuesday morning, and through the midst of undetermined anxiety and pressure, your singing voice lulls Natasha back to sleep.

And when she woke up 3 hours later, she found a lovely, teasing message on her window, written in washable marker.

**ffonamoR .sM ,uoy ekow I fi yrroS.**

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It’s a weekly thing.

Natasha only gets to see you one day a week when you come back to clean her window. She found out that you’re the person assigned to her window.

She was a little curious about how you had found out her name, but it appears that Tony makes his workers sign an NDA when working for him and that a breach of it means essentially having to pay a fine that would carry over 3 generations. 

You come at the same time every morning, and sing different songs as you work. Natasha is your only audience, but today, she wants to get a little closer.

So, the night before you come, Natasha puts her own message on the window. 

You come, right on the clock, and pause. Natasha knows you’ve seen her message.

**⸮eman ruoy teg I yam ,eciov ylevol a evah uoY**

It’s quiet for a moment or two, but you start to work, singing another tune. Natasha isn’t sure what to expect, but she listens as she does every week, falling asleep to the only voice that puts her at peace lately.

When she wakes up, she checks her window to see you’re long gone, but you left another message.

And she gets your name.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Maybe it’s a new addiction, but Natasha can’t fall asleep in the morning unless she hears your voice.

So she asks if Tony can increase her window cleaning to 4 times a week.

“Why?” He asks.

“I’m a messy person.”

“They’re just cleaning the outside of the window. Also, you are the tidiest person I know.”

“The birds take a shit on the windows often,” Natasha shrugs.

Tony cocks his brow at her, but he shrugs and agrees.

So now, she gets to hear your voice 4 times a week, and her morning feels normal again.

Except, the 4th time that week, there’s no singing. In fact, you seemed like you’re in a rush.

And that is throwing Natasha through all kinds of loops. She did not ask Tony to increase the number of times of window cleaning for you to be in a rush.

She gets up and rips the curtains open, coming face to face with you.

You looked shocked, but then you’re frowning.

Natasha slides the window up.

The two of you don’t say anything to each other, but you go back to washing the window with haste.

And while the window is equally as clean as it is when you take your time and sing, it still miffs Natasha.

“Stingy,” she says, and you turn to her.

“Excuse me?” You say, frowning deeply.

“Stingy,” Natasha repeats, and your jaw is dropping as you scoff.

“Singing is not part of my contract, Ms. Romanoff,” you glare at her.

“You can just call me Natasha,” is the only thing the redhead says. 

“Well, _Natasha_ , I get paid to clean your window,” you bite back, but Natasha doesn’t even seem phased. 

“Stingy,” she repeats, causing you to huff and put your swivel back into your bucket.

“You know what? I don’t need this. I have a full-time paying job already.”

You start to scale down, and Natasha turns around to leave her room.

By the time you get to the bottom of the tower, Natasha is already standing there waiting for you.

“How did you–" 

"Elevator,” Natasha says, and you sigh. 

“So, why do you work here if you already have a full-time job?”

You quirk your brow at her. “I’ll tell you if you apologize for saying I’m stingy.”

“I’m sorry for calling you stingy,” Natasha says without missing a beat and no shame. 

You purse your lip, annoyed that Natasha apologizes so easily but sigh through your nose as you come through with your promise.

“…I was here,” you start quietly, “during the alien invasion.”

Natasha bites her tongue because she feels like any looks of sympathy might put you off, and you would close up.

“I was stuck under rubble for hours, my leg was crushed,” your eyes dart to Natasha. “I was lucky as I was when you came and saved me. Another falling rubble would’ve paralyzed me.”

Blinking, Natasha tries to recall if she met you, but that day was a huge blur. There were so many things happening, and so many people she had rescued.

“It’s fine,” you tell her, seeing that she’s trying to recall you, “I was just another face in the many people I’m sure you saved.”

You wave it off, and Natasha crinkles her nose.

“Anyways,” you direct the conversation, “I…”

Your voice dies down for a second.

“It’s hard for me to sleep at times,” you cough, looking upwards.

“This helps.”

“Cleaning windows?” Natasha tilts her head, trying to understand exactly how this helps you sleep at night.

“Cleaning _your_ window,” you clarify.

Natasha takes it as maybe this is how you want to repay her for saving you, but she certainly thinks there could be better ways to thank her.

“Can we have coffee?” Natasha asks, but you cock your brow at her.

“No,” you tell her, and Natasha is floored.

“Should I apologize some more?”

“No–that’s– _no_ , that won’t get you anywhere,” you tell her with a slight tone of exasperation. 

You put your tools away, hoping that Natasha catches the hint you’re done for today. You’re about to walk off back into the main floor to give back the cleaning supplies when Natasha’s voice stops you.

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

You want to turn around, staggered by Natasha’s audacity, and you’re _really_ about to let her have it when she gives you a soft look.

“When you sing, it’s the only time I can sleep lately.”


	2. PART II

You stand there, staring at the towering building. There's a bit of a frown on your lips as you regard the building. It's easy to spot her window as often as you had come now. 

It's a weird thing.

It had only started as a morbid curiosity and desperation for sleep yourself.

And a little gratitude.

You had come back, although you're unsure if that was the right choice to have made. You purse your lip once more as you scale the up the building to Natasha's window.

The curtains are open today, which is new. 

And while you spot no redhead in sight, there's something written on the window from Natasha's side.

**⸮ o ɔ ɘ ɔ ɘ l γ W**

The message itself was incomplete, but you tilted your head as if trying to decipher it. 

It was no use, though, with too many missing letters. 

You sighed and went back to cleaning the window. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The entirety of the whole thing went without Natasha showing up. You weren't sure if that had disappointed you or not. 

You had mulled over it when you were cleaning her window, and then your mind would drift to words Natasha said.

_“When you sing, it’s the only time I can sleep lately.”_

It was a little jarring, and you had slipped slightly, spilling some soapy water on yourself.

You sighed as you slowly made your way back down. 

The moment your toes touched the ground, you stood up straighter and turned, only to come into contact with bright emerald eyes. 

Eyes widening in surprise, you opened your mouth.

"What--"

"I had a meeting this morning," Natasha explained her absence this morning even though you had not asked. 

"Okay," you reply a little unsurely. 

Natasha regards you with a slight tilt of her head. She had almost wanted to kill Steve this morning for holding a meeting when it would be interrupting her time with you. 

The meeting let out before you were done your work, but Natasha stayed at the bottom as she watched you work. You seemed like less in a rush today.

"Thanks for coming back," Natasha speaks again, and you feel your cheeks heat up, feeling a little foolish for it.

"Will you have lunch with me today?" 

You raise your brow before shaking your head again. 

Natasha sighs but accepts the answer. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

With that, the redhead leaves, and you find yourself frowning at how easily it was for Natasha to give up.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

**⸮ ɘ o ɔ ɘ ɔ ɘ ɘl υ γ W**

You stare at the window before you. There are more letters, but you're no closer to figuring out what it says. Cleaning the window slowly, you see Natasha in her room at her desk. She seems to be going over some documents, and you purse your lips.

It's quite early in the morning, and in the past, Natasha was usually asleep at this time.

_“When you sing, it’s the only time I can sleep lately.”_

And you grit your teeth. 

It's too mortifying.

It's one thing to sing and not realize someone hears you, singing and not being able to see the person listening to you, but there was no way you could sing while you can see Natasha staring at you and listening. 

Especially when she's sitting right in front of you as you clean her window.

You jolt slightly when Natasha looks up at you suddenly.

"Lunch today?" She asks, well before your shift is over.

You furrow your brows as an answer, and Natasha sighs and returns to her work. 

It's a couple more minutes of silence before Natasha puts her documents away securely and leaves the room. You feel a weird pang in your chest as you watch her shut the door behind her. 

It doesn't help when you look at the window and see your own reflection frowning. 

The rest of the shift seems to pass by, and you tiredly make your way down. Your arms a little sore, not used to prolonged hours with your hand raised doing something. 

When you reach the bottom, you see Natasha standing there again, this time with a packed brown bag.

She holds it out to you until you take it hesitantly. 

"Hopefully, you'll have lunch with me tomorrow," Natasha rubs her lips together briefly before she walks back into the building.

You can tell she wants to say she hopes there's a song tomorrow too, but she hasn't pushed you for any more singing. 

You look down at the bag, opening it and let out a chuckle. 

There's a simple peanut butter sandwich, an option of packed fruits, or a bag of chips, along with a bottle of juice. 

And you find yourself humming. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

**⸮ ɘ o ɔ ɘ ɔ ɘ ɒɘl υ γ iW**

The mystery is starting to unnerve you.

"How was the sandwich?"

Natasha comes by, opening the window slightly so she can talk with you.

She wasn't in her room initially, appearing much later than she normally would.

Not that you were counting.

Even if it was two hours and thirty-six minutes. 

You sigh.

"It was good. Thank you," you tell her politely. 

Natasha smiles. "So would you like to have lunch with me today? Or should I get you another sandwich? I'll have you know it's the only thing I can make."

You let out a disbelief chortle. It's a little hard to believe an Avenger is only capable of making one dish--if you could even call it that. 

Natasha's efforts were attractive, not that you would admit it.

"Why do you want to eat lunch with me? Also, what are you writing on the--"

You nod towards the writing.

"Window," you finish.

Natasha lets out a toothy smile, pleased she's gotten you intrigued and talking. 

"Stick around long enough, and you'll find out," Natasha blinks, still smiling. 

Natasha thinks it's cute the way you crinkle your nose. 

"Alright," you sigh after a long moment.

Natasha is unsure at first as to what you're agreeing to, but when you go back to cleaning her window with a small smile, Natasha can't help but have a grin herself.

Especially when you spill a little soapy water on yourself again.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You shiver a little, an action Natasha notices.

It may be warm out, but it was merely the end of the spring. There was still a cool breeze out.

"Are you cold?" Natasha asks, but she already knows the answer when she sees the goosebumps.

Perhaps it was not ideal to choose sitting out on the patio. 

"It's fine," you breathe. You usually wore a t-shirt or tank top when cleaning Natasha's window. The laborious work would work up a sweat for you.

You looked at Natasha to see her staring past you, and you followed her eye line until you found some college boys staring unabashedly at your exposed skin. Especially with your shirt still partially drying when you split water on yourself, exposing some of your skin underneath.

Natasha stares at them, hard look in her eyes until the college boys look away, a little embarrassed and guilty of being caught.

Natasha takes off her button-up dress shirt, revealing she was wearing another long-sleeved underneath.

"Here," she hands you her shirt, "wear this."

You merely smile a little, putting on her shirt, noticing how warm it felt from Natasha's body heat and how it smelt just a little like cinnamon and orange blossoms.

"Thanks."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Not to be rude, but I feel like Avengers should have better things to do then persistently ask strangers out for lunch dates."

Natasha has a low chuckle in her throat.

"This is the better thing to do," she replies, enjoying the way your cheeks flush.

"It must be hard," you comment softly, and you don't need to say the rest for Natasha to understand.

It is, she thinks. It is hard to live a normal life with her occupation. Not only was it hard, but it was risky. 

And sometimes Natasha would hesitate to take such risks.

But...

"I'm open to change," she says with a slight nod of her head. 

Before you can comment on that, Natasha asks you another question.

"You said you had a full-time job already," she brings back. "I imagine you must have an interesting career as there's no way you can have a 9-5 when you're cleaning my windows during the weekdays."

You sigh but nod.

"I'm an artist," you tell her. "Although, not as of late since I've seemed to hit a bit of a slump."

It's a little embarrassing to tell a stranger--an Avenger--such a personal problem you were having.

"And you're cleaning my windows as a distraction as well?" Natasha asks because she doesn't think you would just stay and continue to clean her windows for just gratitude. 

"It helps," you mumble, pushing your food around your plate. "I wake up at the same time most days to get to your place on time. It gives me a little bit of stability. Otherwise, I would waste the day away."

And Natasha nods fully understanding, staring at you.

"You're spilling pasta sauce on my shirt."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

**⸮ɿɘ o ɔ ɘ oɔ ɘ ƨɒɘl υ γ iW**

Few things drive you mad. 

"Any closer to figuring it out?"

You look at Natasha through the window, squinting at her.

"Can't you just tell me what it is? Or at least write it all?"

Natasha merely laughs throatily as she smiles. 

She taps on the window.

"Hungry?"

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You don't have to give me your jacket," you shake your head.

Natasha has come prepared.

"Are you always going to spill water on yourself and not bring anything else to wear?"

"Probably..."

"Then, my clothes will have to do."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Spending the day is easy with Natasha.

Natasha is not only interesting to talk to, but also easy. 

A part of you wonders if it's because she's a trained spy that conversation seems to come easy to her.

You spend the day going to some galleries and museums to show her your paintings.

"You're amazing," she compliments sincerely, and you smile a little contritely.

Another thing that Natasha notices. 

The evening comes fast, and Natasha invites you to drinks with her.

"Yes!" You agree a little too excitedly and sheepishly smile.

"You like to drink?" Natasha asks with a smile, no stranger to drinking herself. 

"Yes," you smile with a slight blush, "it's an enjoyable activity."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

A little liquid courage brings a new side to you that Natasha finds endearing. There's a bit more confidence and courage as you speak.

You like to ramble a little bit, and you look at Natasha, enjoying her vodka soda slowly and soberly. 

She laughs as you ramble about crocodiles, and whether or not she's laughing at you or with you, you know one thing for sure. 

You want to kiss her. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"So, what did you think about me when you first met me?" Natasha asks as she leads you back to her car to drive you home.

You pause with a bit of stumble.

"Why?" You slowly ask.

"Because you're drunk and you're more likely unable to control your filter."

You snort.

"You really want to know what I think about you, Natasha Romanoff?"

She hums.

"I thought you were a little entitled," you mutter and laugh when Natasha just stares at you.

"But I like that you say things like my voice is lovely. At least I know why you'd want to be entitled to it," you slur slightly.

Natasha's lips twitch of a smile. 

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, you're so annoying. Persistently annoying. _Annoying, annoying, annoying!_ "

Natasha hangs onto you as you stumble over a rock and sighs.

"Christ, stab me right in a gut, why don't you?" Natasha mutters, but you hear it and smile.

"Anything else to destroy my ego?" She asks.

"Hm," you hum.

"Well?"

"I wouldn't mind kissing you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There's nothing that could describe the feeling you felt as you woke up. You let out a miserable groan as you sit up.

"Feeling like a million dollars?"

You look over to see Natasha sitting on your couch with a book in hand.

It's your couch. You look around to see your own room and bed. You snap your head back at her, groaning as you did with the sudden movement.

"Why are you here?" You moan as you try to rub your temples.

Natasha closes her book, giving a smirk that makes you hate her.

"I needed a place to crash. It's the least you could do after what you put me through last night."

"Oh god, what did I do?" You ask a little mortified.

"Which part are you referring to? The part where we got to your place and I tried to help you get in, and you threw your keys two houses down, and I had to go find them? Or the part where you threw up on my jacket?"

You wanted to die.

You wished an asteroid would come down and blow up your entire house.

"I'm _so_ sorr--"

"You can apologize by washing my jacket when you're better."

You wince at the headache but nod.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"No," Natasha answered simply, and you frown.

"Because of me?" You ask, but Natasha doesn't answer. 

"God, I'm seriously so, _so_ , sorr--"

Natasha turns to go to the door.

"Are you leaving now?" You ask, and Natasha nods.

"Okay..." 

"I'm just going to the convenience store to get you some hangover stuff."

You look at her, smiling lightly.

"You're coming back?"

Natasha nods as she turns open the door. 

Just as she's about to step out when she turns her head back to you. 

"I'm not going to lie, but I really hate it when people throw up on my things."

You crinkle your nose.

"Sorr--"

"But you still looked lovely, and I wanted to kiss you too, so I'll let it slide this time."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Mortification.

That's the only feeling you could feel when Natasha came back with some Advil and other things.

You drank way too much, but you should have drank more so you could at least forget how you told Natasha you wanted to kiss her. 

There was no point in trying to lie to Natasha that you didn't remember anything. She would know.

Natasha was in your kitchen, using your blender, and you were still hoping the ground would open up and swallow you.

She comes back with a drink in hand.

"What's this?" You ask.

"Banana, milk, and honey smoothie. It'll help with your hangover."

You take the drink, sipping on it slowly. 

It was good.

"So you can make more than a peanut butter sandwich," you say with a small smile. 

Natasha grins as she looks as you finishing her smoothie. 

You're way too endearing. 

"You're also lovely when trying to avoid conversation," Natasha says, enjoying the way you tense up.

"Did you want to kiss me while I was making the smoothie?"

You groan, "I hate you."


	3. Part III

**⸮ɿɘ o ɔ ɘ oɔ ɘ ƨɒɘl υ γ liW**

You stare at the message, sighing as you continue to clean Natasha’s window. 

You come close to finishing when Natasha pops into her room, smiling at you.

“Hungry?” She asks when she comes to the window.

“Do you even know how to ask someone on a date romantically?” You sigh.

Natasha tilts her brow and stands up straighter. She leaves the room, and you look at her go in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” You mutter to yourself, letting out a huff of breath before you make your way down to meet Natasha. 

But the second you make it down, Natasha is exiting the tower, a single lily in hand.

“Please give me some your time,” Natasha asks slowly as she takes hold of your hand.

You feel yourself flush, but you stare at the flower in her hand.

“Was that romantic enough, or should I ask again?” Natasha smiles.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Can I ask you something?" 

You hum as you push the food around on your plate, rubbing the fabric of Natasha’s sweater between your fingers.

"Why have you stopped painting?”

You pause, looking up at Natasha, stunned. 

“How did you–”

“The last art you had in a gallery or museum was some time ago. The last time I came over, I only saw empty canvases. Nothing was in the works. There was paint left out that had long dried over, and your brushes were brittle,” Natasha answers with ease.

Such things were easy to notice when you had the job she had. 

You sigh, putting down your fork.

“I’ve hit a slump,” you remind her.

“But why?” Natasha pushes. 

You look out the restaurant window, enjoying the slight breeze that hit your face.

“You know what they used to call me back in art school? The next Michaelangelo. Every time I created something, everyone ranted and raved about how good it was, how it was expected of me. They’d say things like, _‘Of course she would make a work of art like that!’_ ” You looked back at Natasha.

“The expectation kept getting higher and higher, and while people were impressed, they were not surprised. Before I knew it, I didn’t know what to create anymore. Nothing wows the crowd anymore.”

Natasha nods as she listens understandingly.

“Alright,” she licks her lips, “so what’s your plan?”

You lean back in your chair and sigh. “Honestly, right now? I don’t know. I can’t paint right now. Every time I pick up a brush, I just end up sitting there for hours, having nothing done. I’ve reached back out to my teacher. He’s strict, but he’ll have good advice to offer.”

Natasha smiles, seemingly happy that you’ve got some sort of plan. 

“And in the meantime?” She finishes off her food.

“Distractions,” you mumble.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It’s your day off. 

Usually, these days would be spent relaxing, even if you agonize about your art for a lot of the day.

But you can’t this time.

You can’t focus long enough to watch anything, you’re certainly not going to paint, and the silence is deafening. 

It’s quiet, and not the kind that you want right now. 

You fiddle with your phone, Natasha flashing through your mind briefly. 

There’s an unfamiliar ache in your chest, and your fingers flex for something that you don’t want to admit you want.

You roll over on your bed, squishing your face into your pillow, and let out a muffled scream.

God, you hate yourself so much, but just can’t control it.

You sighed, resigned, as you start a call on your phone.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d ever call.”

Natasha gives you that half-smirk smile, and you want to roll your eyes so bad, but you hold your expression.

“Where are we going?” You ask softly as you look out the car window. 

“The amusement park,” Natasha answers simply.

“The amusement park?” You furrow your brows before looking at the redhead.

Natasha hums.

You look out the window again, resting your forehead delicately against the cool glass.

You can’t even remember the last time you were at an amusement park.

You think Natasha is certainly an odd person. An odd person that always seems to bring up new yet nostalgic feelings within you.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The amusement park is just how you remembered it.

There’s screaming in the distance, the smell of popcorn and corndogs permeate in the air. There are a variety of people here that you find yourself staring at.

Couples who walk hand-in-hand, some with awkward blushes, while some have a look that they’ve been in love for a long time.

There’s a family, usually with a young boy or girl, dragging their father and mother by the hand towards the ice cream stand, and then to a ride, standing on their tippy-toes to desperately reach the height requirement to get on the ride.

Young teens are running around with their friends, looking untroubled and free as they enjoy their youth. To them, all that matters now is this moment. 

Every time you blink, it’s like a snapshot saved your mind. 

You’re almost lost in the moment before you see a corndog shoved in your face.

You blink, looking up to see Natasha smiling at you.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“A corndog?” Natasha raises her brow.

You take the corndog, looking at the perfect squiggles of ketchup and mustard.

Natasha has a corndog in her other hand for herself as she takes a bite.

“Mm,” she hums, “tastes like an oncoming stomachache. Just like I remember.”

You can’t help but snort as you take a bite yourself.

“You go to the amusement part often?” You ask. 

Natasha shrugs as the two of you stroll.

“I take Clint’s kids sometimes during the summer,” Natasha says gently. 

You look at her through the side of her eyes, catching the soft look in Natasha’s eyes, the way her lips curve just ever so slightly upwards. 

You would never admit it, but such a look stirred a feeling in your heart, going all the way to the deep pits of your stomach. 

The fleeting moment passes, and you find yourself being led onto the rides and different attractions. 

You’re pretty sure you were near to puking many times after eating the corndog, but you can’t stop laughing and screaming. 

Natasha thinks it’s hilarious when you jump inside the haunted house. She also thinks your response is endearing when Natasha jokes about how she’s surprised you didn’t just abandon her in there.

“We enter together, we leave together,” you said somberly. 

The day starts to settle into a quiet evening, the sky turning into a cotton candy hue. You sit calmly in the Ferris Wheel across from Natasha. 

Looking out the window, your eyes unconsciously take a picture of the view.

“Did you have fun today?" 

You turn your attention back to the redhead, who has her back against the wall as she sits in a relaxed position.

"I did,” you concede. 

The side of Natasha’s lip quirks upward slightly.

“And how’s your art?" 

You sigh, "No better than last time. I’ve reached out to my mentor of sorts for advice. He’s hit a couple slumps before, so he’ll know what to do.”

Natasha nods, accepting the answer with ease. 

The Ferris Wheel reaches the top and stops, your cart swaying slightly. 

“When’s the last time you were at an amusement park?” Natasha asks, crossing her legs as she leans forward to rest her chin on her elbow.

You chuckle, “Pretty long ago. I love amusement parks though, I can’t believe it’s taken this long to come back.”

“With family?” She asks.

You lick your lips.

“With an ex.”

It’s quiet after that, Natasha no longer asking questions. 

When the ride comes to an end, and Natasha drives you back to your place, she walks you up to your door.

“Thanks for taking me out,” you give her a small smile.

Natasha merely stands there, blinking at you.

“You know,” she starts, “I think it’s about time you start paying for dates.”

You’re taken aback, brows furrowed as your thoughts stumble.

“Oh, uh, that’s fair. I can do that. How much do you usually spend on our dates?”

Natasha shifts on one foot as she licks her lip, “Well, today with gas, food, and tickets, it was $100. Our dinner and lunch dates are about $70.”

Your eyes widen, and not to say your broke or anything, for God’s sake, you’re an artist who has sold your paintings before, but Natasha has taken you out on many dates already.

It’s never occurred to you that Natasha takes you on very nice dates, very expensive restaurants. 

“Oh, um, Jesus,” you choke a little. “Right, um, if you want, I can pay for the next date–or do you want me to pay for today’s date? I just have to go grab my wallet.”

You turn around in a panic state only for Natasha to grab your hand and pull you back.

“I think a goodnight kiss should suffice,” she says earnestly. 

Your jaw drops at her boldness. 

“You want a kiss?” You say in disbelief, and Natasha shrugs. 

There is a momentary pause, and Natasha smiles.

“What? Just a moment ago, you were ready for fork out $100, but you can’t give me one kiss?” She teases.

You bite your lip, and another moment passes before Natasha sighs with a bit of a laugh.

“Alright, alright, I’m just teasing you in good nature,” she smiles at you, patting your hand a couple time.

“Goodnight,” she bids you, not even waiting for your reply as she starts to walk away back to her car.

You purse your lips, red in the face with frustration as you watch Natasha’s back.

You angrily stomp up to her, grabbing her hand as she turns back to you with a hint of surprise in her eyes.

“You’re so impatient!” You huff, “Would it kill you to wait a little?”

Before Natasha can say anything, you press your lips to hers, a soft moan leaves her mouth, and you sigh, grabbing onto her sleeve a little tighter.

Natasha wraps her arms around you, pulling you close as she kisses you over and over, savoring your lips and how you taste like cotton candy.

And when she pulls back, she looks at you with a grin.

“I don’t know; seems like being impatient pays off sometimes.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Cleaning Natasha’s windows in the morning seem to carry a different air as Natasha hangs around in her room much more as she keeps her window still slightly opened so she can talk with you.

**⸮ɿɘ o ɔ ɘ oɔ ɘƨɒɘl υoγ lliW**

“Have you figured it out yet?”

You sigh, grumbling slightly while Natasha laughs softly. 

“You could just write the whole thing out, you know,” you suggest with an impish grin that Natasha quirks her brow at.

“I am…just slowly,” she replies, and you roll your eyes.

“Lunch?” Natasha asks dutifully, and you grin a little, shaking your head.

“Not today, I have FaceTime meeting with my mentor. He got my message and wanted to chat with me.

Natasha nods understandingly, fully opening her window as she leans against the ledge.

She pulls you a little closer gently, pressing her lips to yours, enjoying how embarrassed you looked.

"Dinner?” She asks, instead.

“What did I say about romantically asking someone out?” You mumble.

Natasha grins, “Would you pretty please have dinner with me so that I may kiss you a little longer after?”

You snort.

“That just seems crude,” you shake your head.

“Have dinner with me, and I’ll show you they are, in fact, very tasteful kisses,” Natasha smirks unabashedly, and you find yourself flushing slightly.

“God, you’re a moron,” you grumble with a slight smile, starting to head back down to the ground.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Can you see me?”

You roll your eyes, wincing at the loud volume.

“David, you’re not even close to being old, why do you struggle with technology this bad? You’re holding your phone too close. Back up.”

Finally, your mentor, David, comes into view, although from a slightly unflattering angle, but that doesn’t stop his crisp jawline from being apparent.

“Hush, that is no way to talk to your teacher,” David smiles. “So? What’s this about a slump?”

You sigh, describing when the slump had started, what you think started the slump, but how you’re unsure how to fix it.

Even when you have moments of inspiration, it doesn’t translate to painting very well.

“Hm,” David hums. “I recall going through a similar slump in my earlier days.”

You sigh in relief.

“How do I fix it?”

David tilts his head and smiles a little.

“Travel,” he states simply. “You’re way too caught up in your own head. Travel and see other parts of the world, other people. Once you experience that something that only travels can offer you, you’re not caught up on this expectation bullshit.”

You’re silent, taking in David’s words.

“I recommend you travel through Europe. Come visit me in Paris first. Then, make your way to Italy, and then Spain. I recommend Barcelona. From there, maybe Greece, just go where you want to go next,” David smiles as if he recalls his own experience.

“How long did you go for?” You ask softly.

David purses his lips, “Almost two years." 

"Did you go alone?”

David laughed, “Can you imagine anyone wanting to drop their whole life to travel with you indefinitely? Even if they were, they would need to find something to do while you’re doing your journey of self-discovery. Makes for hard company.”

You don’t say anything, and David smiles at you sympathetically as if he knew.

“I’ll get your space ready here, alright?” He sends his love and hangs up the call.

There’s nothing to describe the pit in your stomach that forms. 

But you have loved your art more than anything in your whole life. Your art was who you were.

You quickly send a text, going to lie down for the rest of the day.

_Hey, I’m feeling a little under the weather. Just a headache. Raincheck on dinner?_

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It’s incredibly cliché. 

A blossoming love story with a tragic end. In the end, the girl leaves for her career.

Nothing in your life is stable.

Being an artist isn’t stable, but neither this…whatever it is you have with Natasha. 

It’s not like you didn’t consider asking Natasha to tag along, but that just seemed so…insane. 

Natasha was an avenger. She lived here, had her work here. And when she was gone, she was probably gone for a long time anyway. No one saves the world in a day. 

And then when the world wasn’t in impending doom, what would she do if you were out and about doing things? Would she tag along? Would she _want_ to tag along?

It made no sense. 

_“Are you still sick?”_

“Y-yeah,” you cough awkwardly on the phone with Natasha.

_“Do you need me to come over?”_

“No, uh, I just need rest…” God, you were painfully awkward.

 _“Oh,”_ Natasha sighs, _“Get better soon then.”_

“I will. Sorry to worry you,” you lick your lips.

 _“It’s fine,”_ Natasha says, but you can hear the bitter tone in her voice before she hangs up.

You groan. 

You needed to end this, whatever this was.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

_“Have I done something wrong?”_

“What? No!” You say on the phone.

_“Then why are you avoiding me?”_

“I’m not avoiding you…” you purse your lip, thankful that Natasha cannot see it.

_“You haven’t returned my texts or calls.”_

“I’m just sick.”

 _“I miss you,”_ Natasha sighs, and you feel like someone pricked your chest.

 _“Come by tomorrow to see my window,”_ Natasha says before hanging up, and you feel like kicking yourself in the face.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

**⸮ɿɘƨolɔ ɘmoɔ ɘƨɒɘlq υoγ lliW**

It takes a second to read from the other side, but you stare at the words.

**Will you please come closer?**

The words settle uncomfortably on your lips and in your chest. You had already told Happy at the front desk today was your last day and handed in your resignation.

Windows always need to be cleaned, but perhaps Natasha would like your replacement too. 

Provided they had a pleasant enough singing voice.

You hurriedly rush down, wanting to leave as fast as you could like a coward since Natasha wasn’t in her room, so you could only assume she was in a meeting.

But when you reach the bottom, you find Natasha already waiting for you with a hint on anger in her eyes.

“Leaving so soon?” She asks a touch of accusing in her tone. 

“Uh, I–”

“How else do I prove to you that I want you?” Natasha asks instead, nearly exasperated.

“You’re making this really difficult…” you mutter.

“How so?" 

You lick your lips.

"Natasha, I’m leaving. I’m going to be traveling to help my slump. This isn’t going to work out.”

And Natasha sucks in the air between her teeth painfully, feeling a hammer to her chest as she takes a step back.

“Where and for how long?” She asks.

You shrug. “Everywhere and for as long as it takes.”

Natasha frowns, “And what about me?”

You return her frown as well. “Please don’t try to make me feel bad about doing what I need to do for my art. This was just a distraction for both of us, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t kid yourself, this was more than a distraction long ago,” Natasha stonily answers.

“Are you that upset? I can't _not_ paint forever, Nat.”

“I’m upset you won’t give me a chance.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I-I have to go,” you say hurriedly, turning around and basically running off without having even looked back.

And maybe while you’re a coward, you’re also an asshole because a part of you had expected, wished, that Natasha had chased after you.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The day passes until dark blankets your room. You haven’t even left your bed since coming home.

You’re pathetic, really. Like a moping teenager, you refuse to cry and refuse to admit you’ve gone and broken your own heart.

And so, with sleep heavy on your eyelids, you fall asleep hoping to forget how you’ve thrown Natasha away.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You hear crickets as you wake up. Your hair is soft, and your eyes are still full of sleep as you press your hand to them. It’s much too early to be awake, but you know you had a deep sleep when you look at the imprints of random marks on your arms. 

There’s only one thought that comes to mind.

You made a mistake.

You love your art, but you think you might love Natasha a little more. Otherwise, why else would it hurt this bad to leave her?

You get up, rushing to the bathroom to fix your hair and brush your teeth.

You had no idea if it was still salvageable, but you can’t _not_ try. 

Grabbing your keys, you turn the doorknob hastily, hoping you had everything you need.

But then you look up and find Natasha leaning against the pillar of your porch, arms crossed, with nothing but her leather jacket to keep her warm.

Her hooded eyes find yours dangerously.

“Did you sleep well?" 

The words come biting and low, and you gulp.

"What are you…how long have you been standing out there?”

“All night.”

Natasha pushes herself off the pillar, walking closer to you with her arms crossed. Each step makes you cower back.

“You know,” Natasha pierces her eyes at you, “ever since you came into my life, I got more sleep. And now, you’re the reason I haven’t been getting sleep. I’m not an agreeable person when I don’t get sleep.”

You look away from the severity of Natasha’s look, stumbling as you do so.

“You know it got freezing about two to three in the morning, but I stood there, rooted like a dumb tree because I was scared you’d leave without saying another word to me.”

She backs you further into your room, slamming the door shut behind her.

“And I couldn’t even ring your doorbell because I don’t think I could handle you running from me like you did yesterday, _lovely_ by the way.”

Natasha kicks her shoes off, backing you until the back of your knees hit the bed as she pushes you down on it, crawling her way up your body.

“I’ll be really upset if you don’t make my waiting worth it,” Natasha grumbles.

“I didn’t say you had to wait out there!” You childishly rebuttal.

“And you didn’t say you were going leave me either,” Natasha frowns.

“I wasn’t…” you sigh.

“What was yesterday then?”

You frown as you lick your lip, catching Natasha’s attention to it.

“A mistake,” you admit.

“A mistake,” Natasha repeats after you, and you nod, feeling the guilt rise up in you as Natasha’s knees dig into the bed on either side of you as she stares at you with an intensity you’re not even sure you’ve ever had in your art.

“So, will you come closer?” Natasha mumbles, and it’s quiet, but you suck your lip in as you nod slowly.

“Do you know what I’m going to do now?” Natasha asks, as her cold hands drag underneath the edge of your shirt.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly.

“Cute, another lie,” Natasha hovers her lips over your tantalizingly. 

But surprisingly, she presses her brow against your temple instead.

“Take me with you,” her words vibrate against your cheek. “I don’t care where you go or how long it might take, but don’t leave me behind.”

“Can you live elsewhere?” You ask quietly.

“Clint does,” Natasha childishly answers.

“Clint is married and has kids,” you mutter.

“Should I propose?” Natasha asks, and you can feel her brow furrow against your temple.

You laugh softly, “Don’t you think we’re moving a little too fast?”

“No,” Natasha answers with zero hesitation.

“How can you be so sure?”

Natasha growls, but it sounds so helpless as she lifts herself to hover back over you.

“Mornings are awful without you. I wake up early for you.”

And you’re too stunned at the answer, but Natasha leaned down not caring one bit when you yelp as she bites your bottom lip. Her tongue soothes over it after. She tastes nice, like a hint of–

“Natasha, have you been drinking?” You pull back, getting a whine from the redhead.

Natasha is annoyed you’d ruin the moment to ask such silly questions you clearly knew the answer to.

“Yes, well, I think I earned myself a couple drinks when the girl I’ve fallen in love with runs from me like I’ve got three heads,” Natasha nips at the corner of your mouth, her hand trailing more under your shirt. 

“Are you drunk?”

“I can’t get drunk,” Natasha mutters, “but if I was, the cold air outside would’ve sobered me up.”

You wince in guilt at the image of Natasha stubbornly waiting outside for you, leaning against the pillar in the cold with a permanent frown on her face.

“I’m sorry-” you let out a whine when you feel Natasha press her lips against your throat, biting there with her teeth before sucking on the skin.

“I can ask you more romantically tomorrow, so don’t leave without me.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Day breaks into your room, but it’s hard to want to get up with Natasha’s warm body pressed against yours. 

She sleeps so soundly, a well-deserved nap for sure. You grin down at her as she rests on your chest.

Perhaps you’ll sing her a song today as you make pancakes for her. 

Your phone vibrates against the table, and you pick it up quickly to avoid waking the redhead.

_**David:** Did you get your ticket yet?_

You smile, looking down at Natasha once more as you pull the covers up to her shoulder.

You quickly send your reply, ready to snuggle up for the rest of the morning while you can.

_Yes. I hope you’ve got enough space. I’m bringing a plus one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that concludes this series! Thank you (:


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